


Playing with Raw Blood

by Monyas



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, Dark Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sassy Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monyas/pseuds/Monyas
Summary: Stiles is an only child and he loves being an only child. He appreciates not having to compete with any siblings for his parent’s affections. To be more precise, what he appreciates the most is being able to proudly announce on his fifth birthday that he is still an only child, not only because he devoured his unborn siblings inside the womb but also because he made his mother infertile as he grew up.-In which Claudia Stilinski's maiden name was Addams.-





	Playing with Raw Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etothepii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothepii/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/198422) by [etothepii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothepii/pseuds/etothepii). 



Stiles is an only child and he loves being an only child. He appreciates not having to compete with any siblings for his parent’s affections. To be more precise, what he appreciates the most is being able to proudly announce on his fifth birthday that he is _still_ an only child, not only because he devoured his unborn siblings inside the womb but also because he made his mother infertile as he grew up.

His mother gives him an extra large portion of cake and then she and his father exchange frankly disgusting besotted looks with each other.

“He has potential,” they say to each other in tandem and ruffle Stiles’ unruly hair.

Stiles sprinkles an extra handful of wolfsbane candy on his piece of cake and grins around a mouthful of chocolatey poison.

 

***

 

He grows up chained by the ankles upside down in their attic, blood flowing to his head keeping his childhood in a perpetual state of dizziness and disorientation. He remembers asking to be locked up in the cupboard under the stairs because he had read Harry Potter and he wanted to befriend a million spiders and make them his loyal minions but that is mostly a phase that passes when he realizes he isn't an orphan.

“Do you want to go to an orphanage, son?” his father asks one day, adjusting the scope of the rifle he got for Stiles for that year’s Samhain. They are perched atop the hill waiting for unsuspecting joggers to pass through. “We think it’d be a good learning experience. You can make a couple of mortal enemies and learn how to make babies disappear into thin air for free.”

Stiles plays with his personalized antique revolver, his mother’s favorite, replicates a cowboy twirl and aims at his father’s forehead. “Being an orphan sounds like fun. Being adopted is less fun.”

His father rolls his eyes and adjusts Stiles’ grip so that the revolver is aimed directly between his eyes and says sternly, “Your education is important, son.”

 

***

 

His mother succumbs to frontotemporal dementia the next year and they celebrate the news with a family picnic at the town’s local nemeton. His parents even let him slice the throat of the sacrificial deer and he entertains himself with its bloody entrails afterwards. His mother spends the next couple of months alternating between teaching Stiles necromancy tricks for basic housekeeping to keep the fort for when she'll be gone and shrieking lovingly at his amused father like a literally demented housewife out for blood. She even smashes Stiles’ head into the oven once and keeps him there baking on high heat until the belladonna cookies are done crispy.

Stiles has the time of his life trying to reach the nearest cookie with his equally crispy tongue.

Afterwards, his father opens his mother’s head with the old bonesaw in their garage and lets Stiles, cookies in hand, examine her shrunken brain under magnifier, “See there? She is being careful not to let our natural immunities cancel out the illness. Your mom was always good at control, even in college.”

“Is she in pain?” Stiles wonders, poking the blackish spots in the surface of her brain. He finds the squishiness pretty awesome.

“Migraines and nausea 24/7, son.”

His mother raises a hand from where her headless body lies inert on the dinner table and Stiles high fives her with a grin. He has the coolest mom ever!

 

***

 

His mother gives him The Talk at the local hospital while his father is too preoccupied dealing with a massacre on the other side of Beacon Hills. She talks about ‘normal people’ and ‘us’, she talks about the Addams Family and their values and about the conceptualization of violence and torture in modern media, and she takes her time explaining which poisons are ‘deadly’, which ones are called ‘drugs’ and which ones everybody consumes, like alcohol. She basically tells him to start an early career as an actor and repeats some stuff that Stiles already knew from watching too many reality TV shows. She explains that what he had been watching is how ‘normal’ people behave and that it is not at all a made-up satire to get higher audience ratings.

Stiles gapes speechless at her through it all.

She nods to herself when she finishes and proclaims dramatically, “ _We_ are the satire.”

Her heartbeat stops so abruptly the flatline drops backwards. Nurses appear running in a panic and then the doctor guides him away and tries to comfort him with whispered platitudes. Stiles comes to the realization that people are acting as if his mother is actually gone, _gone for good_ , and not as if she is taking a sabbatical from living because she wanted to finish her PhD on Death and the forces of the dead (which, by the way, is _awesome_ ).

They even call his father, who comes running with undeniable horror written on his face. They stay together by the doors as the doctors come and go and give their condolences. Somehow they manage to make it look as if giving condolences was ever a bad thing.

“Is it true that we are a satire, dad?” Stiles wonders, he had always thought he was more of an allegory but maybe his mother had been generalizing. Dying makes people speak very vaguely after all.

His father cringes visibly, horror still plastered on his face.

“She tricked me,” he glares ruefully at her cold un-undead corpse before turning to Stiles with a sour expression. “And now _I_ have to give you The Other Talk.”

Stiles groans.

 

***

 

Stiles is enrolled in Beacon Hills High School only because the building is located over a chic crossing of telluric currents and not because the school has a particularly interesting curricula. He has to promise his hesitant father to do his very best to get into Eichen House by the time he becomes a senior, but only after he gets rid of his virginity and not sooner since he doesn’t want to become a walking virgin sacrifice joke in college. That would be _so_ embarrassing.

He meets Scott and thinks his asthma is even cooler than Stiles’ carefully developed ADHD. Scott could die at any given moment without his inhaler whereas Stiles only gets mildly sidetracked if he doesn’t take his adderall. His dad had advised him to overdose once in awhile but Stiles is not a fan of swallowing pills and can’t help but regurgitate them more often than not.

He meets Lydia and is immediately starstruck by the aura of death that permeates the air around her like a perfume of _pure screaming awesomeness_. He almost starts stalking her at night and filling her locker with a million rose thorns, but he doesn't want to come off as too old-fashioned.

He then meets her boyfriend, Jackson the jackass, and has a hard time discerning if all the pushing around and manhandling is some kind of bad attempt at flirting with Stiles before his father sits him down and explains the concept of ‘bullying’ to him.

Again.

 

***

 

One night, a bored Stiles goes to the woods alone to look for a corpse, or half a corpse, which is even better. He doesn’t invite Scott because he is still not entirely sure where the line between eccentric and unnatural behavior really stands. So he just tells his father that he is going to be playing waking the corpse in the woods instead of going to the cemetery, which they do every other Sunday anyways, and his father shrugs and tells him to have fun.

Sometimes his father comes back home with the smell of gunpowder lingering in his uniform and blood splatters clinging to the soles of his shoes. Nothing ever turns up on the newspaper the next morning. Stiles is just happy his father has some healthy hobbies outside of work.

This time, however, it is Stiles who comes home in the morning trailing blood on their welcome mat. His father merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow as Stiles stomps up to his room and slams the door in an admittedly childish fit of frustration. Just his luck that he gets bitten by an actual feral creature of the woods but was too distracted by _deer_ of all things to do anything about it in time. He didn't even manage to keep the bite, let alone make it take and infect him with whatever awesome curse or virus it contained. Stiles never felt so ashamed of himself, like he should be going right after the creature and apologize to them, and maybe convince them to maul him again, if they weren’t too annoyed with Stiles for wasting their valuable feral time. Feral time is so precious and rare these days that it’s no wonder most people romanticise it in horror movies, and Stiles wasted a golden opportunity to experience it first hand. What a _shame_.

 

***

 

The next day Stiles sulks all morning and then goes back to the woods, this time with Scott. He figures that he isn’t crossing any weirdness lines since it’s daytime and the police had recovered the actual body (half body) after all. Stiles isn’t really expecting the feral creature to appear out of nowhere during the day and give him a second chance so he startles badly when they are intercepted mid-stroll.

“This is private property.” The guy growls at them. And _unholy antichrist_. The man in front of Stiles looks pissed off, like he could easily slam him into a tree and crush his bones in half with his bare hands with no effort, then claw his way to his shattered rib-cage and punch his still beating heart into the bark of the aforementioned tree. He is serial killer levels of hot, that is what he is.

“So technically,” Stiles croaks, “I am in your property so that must mean I _am_ your property too. _Right_?”

Stiles resists the urge to facepalm before he even finishes his panicked question. Crappy pick-up lines are crappy for a reason. Also, now both Scott and hot serial killer are looking at him with identical expressions of uncertainty and the awkward silence that follows confirms that Stiles came on way too strong for a first meeting. All romantic proclamations of willing slavery should be better left to the second date at the very least. Stiles _knows_ that.

 

***

 

“Hey dad, how would you feel if, hypothetically, I joined a werewolf pack and started randomly howling at the full moon and hunting prey in the woods once or twice every month? Just once or twice, you know, for career experience.” Stiles casually drops at breakfast as his father is reading the newspaper.

“Hypothetically, not until you are eighteen.” His father deadpans without looking up.

“Oh come on, daaaad!” Not that Stiles was expecting much but he thought his father would have at least let him get a bit bitten first. “Everyone popular is doing it these days, even Jackson the jackass! If I don’t keep up they’d think I’m not cool or something and I’ll be left out of full moon parties. Pretty please?”

“You can join all the werewolf packs, witch covens, vampire councils, pagan sects, and satanic orders as you like after you complete your coming of age sacrifice at eighteen. We’ve talked about this before. Your education comes first.”

“That was years ago, and don’t think I don’t know you and mom actually met at an undead rave party in high school.” Stiles points out, “She always brags that it was super romantic with all the rotting and brain devouring and all that.”

His father glances at him suspiciously, “Is this about that boy you have a crush on?” Stiles splutters a frantic ‘noooo’ but his father ignores him with practised ease, “You know that just because you like someone it doesn’t mean you need to be like them or change yourself for them, right? You should be yourself. Remember what happened with the Martin girl.”

Stiles winces, he does actually still remember his efforts at winning Lydia over with an amateur serenade impression of a deadly banshee song a couple of years ago, below Lydia’s bedroom window, at midnight, the night before their eco exam. He literally bleed his vocal cords out trying to achieve the perfect chilling pitch but he had to make an escape before the cops arrived and couldn’t finish the song. His father had been impressed that Stiles had managed to crack the window without cheating with a megaphone. Lydia had taken to avoiding Stiles at school afterwards.

“It’s not like that,” Stiles plays with his food morosely, the food plays back in consolation, “I know Derek is way over my league. I _know_ , okay? He is an actual orphan with an actual legit tragic past and a born werewolf with the looks of a serial killer model, and you know claws are really sexy coated in blood, and his eyes flash so finely, and his cheekbones, _his cheekbones_! He growls threatening at everyone which is just so polite and, like, he sometimes says the sweetest things like he wants to rip my throat out _with his teeth_! What a tease, how unfair is that? Even his hollowed and burnt down house in the middle of nowhere is fucking perfect _,_ it has a _fully furnished premium torture chamber in the basement_! I can’t even deal with how cool that is.” Stiles flails around, willing his father to understand.

His father sighs and goes back to the newspaper, “No torture chambers until you are eighteen either.”

Stiles hides his head between his hands and sobs.

“But you invite Hale for dinner one of these days.” His father relents.

Stiles fist pumps, “Yesss!”

 

***extra***

 

Stiles gets along with Peter like a house on fire, even though he knows Peter himself wouldn't care for that particular description of their friendship. He thinks of Peter as the cool doting uncle, the one who always visits bearing presents and murder.

“What are you?” He asks Stiles the first time they meet, nostrils flaring and incredulity painted on his face.

“I'm a huge fan of your work!” Stiles gushes, no shame in admitting it. He takes Peter's hand and shakes it with fervor, eyes gleefully taking in the scaring flesh that is the older man's face.

He ignores the look that Derek and his uncle exchange in favor of beaming at them.

“Derek, as your dear uncle I must say that I am worried about your tastes.” Peter actually looks concerned, “You may have an unconscious penchant for psychopaths.”

“Oh, do you?” Stiles glances shyly at Derek from under his lashes, “I have been insane before and I haven’t tried psychopathy yet but I’m sure I can learn.”

Derek glares dubiously at Stiles. “I have no doubt that you can.”

Stiles grins.

Peter shudders.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment below with your favorite Addams scenario :D


End file.
